Page 134 of Nine Week Nanny

My heart jumps when I spot Maris at the bar. Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and she's staring into her glass, tracing its rim with one finger.

She looks up, our eyes meeting across the room. She smiles and jumps up to greet me, motioning to the empty stool beside her.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I weave between tables. Nerves twist my stomach into a sailor's knot.

Just like Maris to welcome me with open arms when I turned my back on her.

"Hey," I manage, sliding onto the stool. My hands find each other in my lap, fingers lacing together so tightly my knuckles whiten.

"Hey, yourself." Maris's voice is neutral, her eyes searching my face. "It's been too long. You look good."

The bartender approaches, but I wave him off. I can't handle small talk or drink orders right now.

"I do not! I look like shit."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, Maris." The words tumble out before I can shape them into something more elegant. "I ghosted you. I avoided your calls because I didn't want to hear I was wrong."

Maris's eyebrows lift slightly. "Wrong about what?"

"I slept with Pope, my boss, Lennon's dad. Again, after that night in the hotel.”

Shame rises, hot and prickly beneath my skin. "We had an affair. I thought I was falling in love with him, and I heard your words, I knew you thought it was wrong, and…."

The confession feels like peeling back my own skin, exposing everything raw underneath.

"Oh. You slept with him. I was busy, I figured you just got busy, that's why we couldn't connect."

"No, I was just a coward. And when things got sticky, it went sideways fast. Part of that was my fault. I pushed him away first, at the first sign things were about to blow up. But he didn't need to be told twice."

Maris listens without interrupting, her eyes never leaving my face. When I finally run out of words, she nods once.

"I never meant to make you feel judged, Sloane. That was never my thought or my intent." She reaches for my knotted hands. "I was just trying to give advice. That's all."

"You were right." My voice cracks. "I wish I had listened to you. Everything's a mess now."

Tears well up, blurring the bottles lined behind the bar into a kaleidoscope of colors. One escapes, tracking down my cheek.

Maris squeezes my hands. "You can't beat yourself up. Sometimes we have to learn lessons before we understand them." Her smile is gentle. "It's only natural you would fall for him in that situation. He sounded pretty amazing. But I'm sorry he hurt you."

A waiter appears with a platter of oysters for the couple next to us, giving us both a moment to breathe.

"Would you ladies like to order?" he asks, notepad ready.

I look at Maris, relief flickering through me that she hasn't walked out, that she's still here, listening.

"I'd love some food. And definitely wine." I grab the menu, hiding behind it for a second to compose myself. I wipe under my eyes and take a deep breath. "Lots of wine."

Maris nods, a silent understanding passing between us.

Twenty minutes later, our table holds plates of half-eaten lobster rolls and roasted Brussels sprouts. The sharp tang of vinegar lingers in the air, mixing with the buttery scent of the rolls.

My one glass of Sauvignon Blanc catches the amber light, golden liquid sloshing against crystal as I set mine down harder than intended.

I said I want lots of wine, but I have to drive. So I enjoy my one slowly, savoring the tang.

"So," I begin, my fingers working the edge of my napkin until it frays. "There’s more. I want to tell you the whole scandal."